poetry

Bad Friday

I am a bible carved out of stone, sitting quietly in the corner of the empty prison cell of your mind.

When you find yourself trapped in the cage that you have built for yourself, I will be there, smug, waiting for you to pick me up.

A sick enjoyment will come from being your last resort and it will be astonishingly easy to make your hell become my paradise.

You will run your fingers over me like you have done so many times before, trying desperately to prise me open but you’ll find that I have no pages.

I am a singular block of stories and ideas and lessons and epigrams that will one day end up tattooed on kids’ wrists and ribs, but I will not let you look inside me.

In your hour of need I will be all that you have. You will want to devour me, you will want to ingest my contents but you will never open me up.

You may throw me against the wall in frustration but I won’t break. I won’t let you read me, for you do not deserve my poetry.

But I do not need to hurt you. No, you will beat yourself up for ever having doubted me. You will kick yourself for ever questioning my authenticity. You will regret not believing in me when I was the only real thing that you ever possessed.

And you will regret abandoning me in my own descent toward death, now that I’m witnessing yours and I am all you have left.

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9 thoughts on “Bad Friday

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